


A Whole Lotta Money (That’s Ready to Burn)

by violentcrumbles



Series: Anniversaries [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Las Vegas, M/M, Pre-Canon, drunk wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7193531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentcrumbles/pseuds/violentcrumbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why not?”</p>
<p>“Because…” Len was at a loss for words. This was not a conversation he’d expected to have ever, and certainly not while drunk on a street corner in Las Vegas at three in the fucking morning. He said the first thing that came to mind. “Because weddings take planning.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Whole Lotta Money (That’s Ready to Burn)

**Author's Note:**

> For the “tin” anniversary in the “Anniversaries” series. 
> 
> Their vows come directly from a website for a similar venue. Word-for-word. I can’t make this stuff up. (Link in End Notes.)  
> I also fucked with the layout of the Vegas strip, but only by about half a block or so. 
> 
> Thank you to the inimitable tatterhood for her betaing skills!

 

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA - 1996

“You call this ‘lying low’?”

Mick laughed and threw his arm over Len’s shoulder. Len staggered under the weight. He stumbled a few steps and bumped into a woman in a very shiny, very short dress and very high heels who was waiting for the light to change with a pack of similarly attired friends. She wobbled, and Len momentarily envisioned a domino effect of sequined, stilettoed women falling one after the other down the entire length of the Vegas strip, neon lights flashing off the sequins like stars as they fell. There were certainly enough of them out on a Saturday night. Enough women, at least, the glow of lights from the strip blocked out any stars there might have been.

The woman caught herself and flipped Len off without even turning around or stopping her shrieking conversation. Mick threw his head back and laughed again, the infectious sound coming from deep within his chest. He’d taken full advantage of Las Vegas’ lack of public drinking laws and it showed. Len ruthlessly crushed the urge to smile.

“Always making friends, huh Lenny?” Mick shook Len affectionately, almost sending him back into the woman. Mick had been a scary fucker the first time he saved Len’s ass in juvie, and in the ten years since he’d grown almost a foot taller and gained at least 60 pounds of muscle. Usually, he was more careful about his size around Len, and less... affectionate. But usually he wasn’t drunk on overpriced booze and high on the biggest score of their lives.

“A million fucking dollars, Lenny!” Mick yelled in his ear, “We stole a million fucking dollars! We’re fucking millionaires! We _had_ to go to Vegas!”

“Say that a little louder, why don’t you?” Len ducked out from underneath Micks arm as the light turned green. “And we’re only millionaires _combined_ , not after we split it.” Secretly though, he was pleased. One million dollars. He wanted to shout it as well. It was more money than he’d ever even dreamed of getting. And it had been _his_ plan that got it for them.

His plan had gone perfectly. The armored car had taken the exact route he’d predicted, with the exact number of guards, and had needed exactly as much C4 to break into. Best of all, it had only taken the two of them. And sure, maybe they still had to wait a few months for the heat in Central City to die down before they could spend their hard earned money, but still--a million fucking dollars.

They’d taken only a couple thousand--small bills, unlikely to have the serial numbers traced--and gotten out of town as fast as they could. The rest was hidden in a safe house only he and Mick knew about. No one, not even Lisa, and especially not even his father, would have any chance of getting at it before they came back to their city.

As they crossed the street, a massive fireball erupted in front of them. Len froze, reaching instinctively for the gun under his jacket.

In a moment of post-heist euphoria, he’d let Mick pick their hideout destination and had been arguing against it ever since. Las Vegas, home of the mob, private security, and more cameras than even Len wanted to try to calculate, _that_ was where Mick wanted to hide out.

They’d spent the last few days camped out in their hotel room a few blocks off the end of the strip, just watching the news for their faces and getting on each other’s nerves. After over twenty-four hours without a single mention of their robbery on any of the major news outlets, Len had decided it was safe to explore the town. And he _hated_ it. Everything seemed to designed to overwhelm with size and gaudy cheapness, like an oversized fake gem so poorly made that you could see the foil flaking off the back. Cram that full with too many people, lights, and sounds and Len was basically in Hell.

And like Hell, the worst part was the heat, even at night. Wasn’t the desert supposed to cool off at night? Even in June? Len hated hot weather, and even Mick seemed to be feeling it. The fact that they both had to wear jackets to cover their illegally carried handguns only made it worse.  

That said, Len didn’t exactly regret letting Mick choose their destination seeing as how at the time, Mick had literally been fucking him on top of a huge pile of money. Len would have probably agreed to hide out on the moon if Mick had suggested it.

Still, it was the principle of the thing.

Beside him Mick whooped and the pack of women shrieked again, not in fear but in delight. Another fireball went off in time with loud, throbbing music. Len slowly let go of his gun. The fireball was a part of some show at the casino. He turned. Mick was stopped in the middle of the street, eyes wide. The light changed and cars started to honk, but Mick was enraptured by the spectacle in front of him. Len shook his head.

“C’mon, partner,” he said, tugging on Mick’s canvas jacket when he didn’t respond to Len’s voice. “Let's get you even closer to the deadly destruction.”

The show turned out to be vaguely pirate related, and while the sexy, barely-clad dancers of both sexes had certainly given Len some ideas, he could tell that the massive and perfectly choreographed pyrotechnics had given Mick even more. Len made a mental note to make sure to find Mick some nice abandoned building while they were out here and let him have some fun. If he didn’t, God only knew what sort of creativity Mick might unleash if the rest of Vegas was as inspiring.

They stood in silence a few minutes after the show ended. It wasn’t the first time Len had seen Mick in a fire-induced trance. For Mick’s 25th birthday last year, Len had found out about a train shipment of various combustible gases. Len had wrapped the detonator in a sheet of Sunday comics and had Mick drive them out to the perfect vantage point. Sitting on that hill overlooking the burning train and watching the fire dance in Mick’s eyes had been one of the happiest moments in Len’s life. They’d made out for hours as the train cars continued to burn in deep reds and oranges, with pops of green and blue as rarer chemicals exploded, and the sirens of the fire trucks wailed into the night.

“Do you want to go in?” Len asked softly, “The casino’s called ‘Treasure Island’. A little on-the-nose for my tastes, but this trip _was_ your idea.”

Mick shook himself and glanced sheepishly over at Len. “Nah, let’s keep walking.”

They made it less than half a block however, before Mick stopped again in the middle of the sidewalk. Len turned back, instantly aware of the lack of Mick’s presence beside, but just a step behind him. The other pedestrians flowed around his partner like a river around a boulder. Another gaggle of drunken women in short skirts and heels, _Christ, were they everywhere?_ bounced off Mick, giggling and oblivious. Then Len saw what had Mick so transfixed.

“The Mirage” read the glowing script on the massive casino Mick was staring at. And in front of The Mirage there was a volcano.

Of course there was.

Len rolled his eyes. He didn’t even try to get Mick’s attention this time. He walked over and gave Mick a shove towards the casino. Mick moved, unresisting, until he hit the low fence separating the sidewalk from The Mirage’s man-made lake and volcano. Heavy rock music started to blast from hidden speakers as they approached and the volcano shot a jet of flame into the desert sky.

Len sighed. This time he didn’t even have any half-naked dancers to watch.

After 10 minutes, and the same awful song repeating for the third time, Len stretched from where he was lounged against fence, and hopped up to sit precariously on the railing. The show was beautiful, he could admit, even if fire wasn’t really his thing, with balls of flame seeming to roll across the lake and orange-lit geysers making it almost impossible to tell where the flames ended and the water began. But there was really only so much fire a man… well, _most_ men, could take.

With his back to the show, Len turned to look at Mick. The man was enraptured. Unsurprising.

Mick was bent over the rail, hands clasped on the flaking paint of the metal, leaning out as close as he could get. His eyes were wide, reflecting the reds and yellows of the flames, plush lips slightly parted. He blinked, and Len couldn’t help but track the lightning fast sweep of Mick’s long lashes.

_Gorgeous._

It seemed like it should be the wrong word to describe Mick. Mick, who was so strong and wild. Who had finally grown into the broad shoulders he’d had as a teen, layers of muscle sometimes making Len forget they were the same height now. That finally, he was no longer the small, scared kid that Mick had protected all those years ago. They protected each other now.

But Mick _was_ gorgeous. Len crushed the feelings that the thought raised in his chest back down, making his stomach churn. It wasn’t like he was the only one who thought Mick was good-looking. Plenty of girls, and even a guy or two, had said as much, sometimes even before Mick had slept with them. And Len wasn’t the jealous sort. He knew the other guys and girls Mick fucked didn’t mean anything to him, just a way to scratch an itch if Len was unwilling, unavailable, or sometimes just because. He and Mick were partners, and that was what mattered.

The music crescendoed and Mick grinned as a ring of fire rolled up from the volcano and churned slowly into the sky. Len laughed softly at himself and turned away.

_A quarter-life crisis_ , isn’t that what they called it these days? Here he was, Leonard Snart. Son of a junkie and a disgraced cop who’d made his first million before his twenty-fifth birthday. And he was in Vegas, city of his two favorite things--money and sin--with a man who’d followed him, trusted him, bled for him, and cared for him for over ten years now. And Len was wallowing in some sort of… romantic quarter-life crisis about it. Ridiculous.

Leonard Snart was not the romantic sort.

“Hey.”

Len felt a pressure on his knee. He looked over as Mick bumped his leg again gently with his shoulder.

“You ready to go?” Mick asked.

“Don’t want to watch it again?”

“Naw,” Mick stood and stretched, cracking his spine. “I could do better.”

Len snorted.

“I could!” Mick rolled his shoulders and stepped closer, nodding at the casino behind Len. “All this stuff is… leashed? Y’know? Controlled. They gotta worry about lawsuits and not frying anybody on accident. Give me plastic and kerosene over this fake shit anyday.”

“I know,” said Len. They stayed there a moment, Len seated on the fence, ankles locked around the thin vertical support beams for balance, chin tilted up to look at Mick standing between his spread knees, just a breath away from touching. He was closer than Len let anyone else get, but it was alright. It was right. It was Mick.

Len broke the moment, gesturing towards the street with an overly dramatic sweep of his arm.

“Lay on, MacDuff.”

\--

Mick seemed to have mostly sobered up and led Len further down the strip as they both marvelled at the lights and dodged the flyers for strip clubs that fast talking men tried to press into their hands with promises of cheap booze and even cheaper lap dances. Mick raised his eyebrows at Len in question, but Len just shook his head. He was happy just enjoying Mick’s company for the time being.

After another long block they came to a massive open construction site surrounded by a chainlink fence. After constant press from the endless swath of towering casinos, the dark and quiet of the open space seemed wrong. It felt haunted almost, like a hollow gap in the world. There was a sign on the fence that read “Coming Soon: The Bellagio” with a drawing of some sort of monstrous Italian villa with a fountain that had geysers shooting higher than the casino itself.

“This used to be ‘The Sands’,” said Mick, breaking the unnatural stillness. “They blew it up last year. Actually blew it up. I watched it on the news. That’s how they get rid of old casinos. One minute there, the next just... boom.”

“Controlled demolition?”

“Mm hm, with parties and fireworks and everything.”

Mick hummed happily. This time, Len couldn’t help but smile. It was like this town was made for Mick. Money, booze, crime, fire, destruction, all on a scale that nothing in Keystone or Central City could ever hope to replicate. Maybe this hadn’t been such a bad plan after all. Unless of course, Mick wanted to stay.

Len considered this for a moment, then let the idea pass. They had a million dollars stashed in Central City waiting for them after all. And if that wasn’t enough to bring Mick home, Len could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. Ten years sharing a life with Mick and most of those sharing his bed had taught Len all of Mick’s weak spots.

“Maybe next time, c’mon.”

Len lead them across the main strip to the other side of the construction site as they slowly wandered, for once with no rush or real destination, able to just take their time. He laughed as the neon sign for the next casino finally distinguished itself from the background of flashing lights and neon that ran ahead as far as he could see.

“Well, Viva Las Vegas.”

“Mm?”

“You remember that guard we had in juvie with the birthmark on his face?” Len asked.

“Mr. Spot? Yeah, he was alright. He liked me.”

“Only because he never caught you calling him that. Remember how Mr. _Scott_ would  screen those old Elvis movies on Friday nights?”

Len looked over at Mick just in time to see his face light up with recognition. Mick’s unexpected and overwhelming love of Elvis Presley had been one of the first things Len had learned about him. All he’d known at first was that it meant he had to be extra wary when he heard Mick humming because that meant he was too absorbed in a project to be aware of their surroundings. Be it fixing the broken coffee maker from the guards’ lounge in exchange for a couple of candy bars, or learning to jimmy the lock on the commissary to get them himself, if Mick was happy and enjoying a challenge, he hummed Elvis.

It was a trait Len pretended not to have picked up, despite the number of times in the past few years he had caught himself coming out of a blueprint daze with “All Shook Up” stuck in his head.

After years of Len’s teasing, Mick had told him that her Elvis records were the only music his mother had that his dad could stand, so sometimes she played them and Mick’s whole family danced along. But only when times were good.

Len had stopped teasing him after that.   

Mick continued, “But Mr. Spot only had the three movies. _Blue Hawaii, King Creole_ and--”

“ _Viva Las Vegas_. Look,” Len nodded towards the casino ahead of them, “The Flamingo. That’s where Elvis sang that whole long song to Ann Margret before she pushed him in the pool. I wonder if the pool’s still there?”

“ _Len_.”

Mick’s voice dropped an octave into the same tone he used in the middle of a heist when something very important and potentially dangerous had just happened. He dropped a hand onto Len’s shoulder.

“Len, we have to go drink with the ghost of Elvis.”

\--

“To Mr. Spot!” Mick yelled, raising his glass of whiskey before downing the whole thing and waving impatiently at the bartender.

“And the ghost of Elvis Presley,” Len said wryly before taking a small sip. He leaned against the poolside bar. Not only was the pool from the movie still there, but the diving board, bar, and dressing rooms all looked exactly the same. The night was still warm enough for a few brave swimmers, but late enough that away from the bar, the entire sprawling space was mostly abandoned, the lights from the pool casting an eerie blue glow over the empty lounge chairs and umbrellas.

Len felt his shoulders relaxing. The tension of being around so much noise and so many chaotic, unpredictable people had tightened them without his even noticing. The lights and music from the strip were still there, a haze of color and sound drifting over the landscaping and palm trees, but they were far enough away to feel dreamlike, just out of reach. _Ladies and gentlemen,_ Len mused as he took another sip, _Elvis has left the building_.

“What’ll ya have next?”

Len raised an eyebrow. Mick had finally gotten the bartender’s attention, and she waited impatiently, fake nails tapping on the bar.

“I think one will be enough for me, Mick. One of us has to be able to find our way back to the hotel.”

“C’mon, Snart.”

“Mick,” Len warned.

“No, c’mon,” Mick smiled charmingly at the bartender and held up a finger. She rolled her eyes, but stayed in place, giving them a moment to decide. Mick leaned in closer, so she couldn’t hear.

“What are you worried about? We’re millionaires. If we can’t find the hotel room tonight, fuck it. We’ll get another one. We can afford it.”

Mick looked into Len’s eyes and Len’s breath caught. He never understood how anyone could fall for Mick’s dumb guy act. Mick could just look at a person and instantly know everything he needed to about them. His intensity and focus were so obvious, but almost everyone overlooked him.

_Good_ , whispered a part of Len he tried to ignore, _more for me_. A shiver raced down Len’s spine as he thought of how Mick used that same focus and intensity in bed, leaving Len grasping at the sheets and unable to remember his own name.

Mick grinned wickedly as he leaned in closer, like he knew exactly what Len was thinking. He probably did, the bastard.

“We could even get a room right here. You think the penthouse is free? I’d love that. Love to fuck you right up against the glass of a Vegas penthouse room. Think anyone could see us? Doubt it. But we could see them, all the little ants running around below, not knowing who we are, who we’re gonna become. I’d eat you out first, of course. I’d have to. Once you see all those casinos and all that money laid out in front of you, I’d have to distract you somehow. I know you.”

Len licked his lips, speechless. Mick winked and leaned back.

“But first, celebrate with me, Lenny! We’re rich! Lisa’s off at skate camp, your d-- no one else knows where or who we are. It’s just you and me, partner. I’ve got your back, like always.”

Len swallowed, mind still stuck on the first half of what Mick had said before catching up to the rest of it. Mick was never exactly subtle when he wanted Len to do something, but damn. Len was only human.

“Fine. But only a couple. And none of those nasty sweet drinks you order when you’ve had a few.”

“Great,” Mick turned back to the bartender and pointed to a couple at the end of the bar, “two of those big ones with the fruit that they have. And shots. We need shots.”

\---

“Still with me, Snart?”

Len didn’t bother opening his eyes. He’d lost count of how many drinks he’d had somewhere after his third round of those delicious pineapple things and Mick’s fourth round of flaming B-52s. He’d never been the kind of drinker Mick was, preferring to stay in control of himself at all times, but Mick was right, they were technically millionaires. They should do something to celebrate the occasion.

Still, despite Mick’s head start earlier in the night, Len had a lower alcohol tolerance and had been trying to keep pace with Mick fucking Rory, the finisher, if not starter, of half the bar brawls in every dive in Central City. Len had made a valiant attempt, but had spent the last half hour with his eyes closed, his head on Mick’s shoulder. He was only leaning on Mick for a little extra balance. The damn bar stools didn’t have backs, and the last thing Len wanted to do was go for an unintentional swim fully-clothed, even if Elvis Presley had in that damn movie.

He certainly wasn’t leaning on Mick because he was strong and warm and smelled good or any other reason like that. After all, the only thing Len hated more than being touched was relying on someone else.

“Hey, partner, you okay?” Mick’s arm slid around Len’s waist, his hand resting on Len’s hip as he gave him a small shake. Len relaxed into his warmth.

“Peachy. You done?”

“Think so. That just about wiped me out of bills though. Left the rest in the room. Got anything for the tip?”

Len dug into his jacket pocket and tossed his wallet down with a flick of his wrist. “Give her all of it. Tipping’s important.”

The shoulder under his head shook unpleasantly as Mick laughed. “Sure is. You gonna be able to find our way back to the hotel though? Won’t have anything left to rent a room.”

Len opened his eyes and scowled as Mick’s blurry face came into focus. “Of course I can. Fuck you, Rory.”

“Love you too, Lenny.”

“Mmm, I know,” said Len as he stood slowly, shaking off Mick’s arm for good measure. “I know everything.”

Mick laughed again, throwing all the cash in Len’s wallet down on the bar, before slipping the wallet back in Len’s pocket. He picked up a tiny umbrella from one of their drinks and tucked it behind his ear.

_His hair has grown out_ , Len noticed as he leaned against the bar while gravity righted itself. The dark strands were just brushing the tops of Mick’s ears, and long enough that the sides stuck out a little in places, giving Mick a wild and untamed look, half feral and even younger than his twenty-six years. Len would have to trim it for him next time he got his hands on a pair of clippers.

\--

They walked out of The Flamingo and back onto the strip. Len was a little unsteady at first, but at least the crowds had thinned so there were fewer other pedestrians for him to dodge. It was still early by Vegas standards he supposed, but late everywhere else. He watched another group of glittery women walk by. They were was all barefoot and giggling amongst themselves. _Sometime between two and three am_ , he decided. That strange hour when women lost their high heels, men lost their jackets, and dangerous things felt safe.

Len surreptitiously tapped his gun in its holster under his own jacket, just to make sure both jacket and holster were both still there. They were, and he continued walking down the sidewalk in as straight a line as he could manage. He felt Mick’s hand at the small of his back once or twice, but ignored it.

They walked a few more blocks in companionable silence, before turning down the side street Len thought was theirs. The traffic was quieter here, but not much. After an unfamiliar block or two, Len started to worry that he was a little lost.

“Don’t remember that strip club.”

“Shut up, Mick.” Len didn’t have to look at Mick to know the man had a shit-eating grin on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mick take the umbrella from behind his ear and twirl it contemplatively between his fingers.

“There _are_ a lot of strip clubs...” Mick continued, his voice an amused rumble. “Maybe we should go in, just to ask for directions.”

Len couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at that. He turned to Mick with a devastating double entendre on his tongue, but before he could say anything, Mick threw his head back with a booming laugh and pointed his umbrella down the street ahead of them.

“I definitely don’t remember that!” Mick howled when he could speak again, tears in the corners of his eyes.

Len ran his sight down the line of Mick’s arm, reaching a hand out to steady it as Mick’s arm wobbled slightly. Or maybe Len was the one wobbling. He looked past the little umbrella and down the block as Mick continued to chuckle. There was nothing he could see for Mick to be laughing at, just the strip club, and then another liquor store, and then past it…

Oh. Oh no.

The small chapel was painted white, with clapboard siding and even a little steeple on top. It was cute and quaint and could have been the backdrop for any Norman Rockwell painting if it weren’t for the hot pink neon sign blazing over the arched double doors: THE KING’S CHAPEL OF LOVE. On either side of the sign, the outlines of neon music notes and electric guitars blinked slightly out of sync with each other, their buzzing hum adding to the pulsing bass coming from the strip club every time the doors opened.

“It’s a sign, Len. We have to,” Mick said, wiping the tears from his eyes with his free hand.

Len turned to Mick without releasing his arm. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Len was at a loss for words. This was not a conversation he’d expected to have ever, and certainly not while drunk on a street corner in Las Vegas at three in the fucking morning. He said the first thing that came to mind. “Because weddings take planning.”

“You think everything takes planning.”

“Yes, and I can think of roughly _a million_ examples we have that prove me right.”

“C’mon, first The Flamingo, now this? Maybe this was Elvis’s plan.”

Len stared at his partner. Mick had to be kidding. Right? But Mick had never been much of a kidder, or a liar either. He was far too honest, at least with Len.

“Think about it,” said Mick. “This way we’d never have to testify against each other!”

“Mick,” Len spoke slowly, “marriages between two men aren’t legal.”

Mick rolled his eyes. “And that’s always stopped us.”

Len stood there flabbergasted. Mick couldn’t actually be serious about getting married. Everything else aside, to say that neither of them was the marrying type was putting it mildly. Sure, he loved Mick, had even said it a couple of times... and the sex was _phenomenal..._ and they worked so well together... and they already basically lived together when they weren’t fighting or splitting up to lay low...

He realized Mick was watching him struggle to come up with words to explain how terrible an idea this was, that warm smile still on his face. After several moments the smile slowly started to fade. Mick shrugged, dropping his arm. It was only then that Len realized he’d been holding onto him the entire conversation.

“Nevermind,” said Mick flatly, turning away. The little umbrella fell from his hand and dropped to the pavement. Before Len could react, a hot desert breeze picked it up and blew it into the gutter.

“I’ll go see if anybody in the liquor store knows where our hotel is,” Mick said. “It was on Salty Street? Salter Street? Something like that, right?”

Len watched as Mick shoved his hands in his pockets and stomped off. All traces of the laughter and contentment from earlier in the night were gone. Len didn’t understand. Mick had just been kidding, hadn’t he? He couldn’t seriously want to marry Len. That would be… Len frowned. That wouldn’t be awful, he supposed. It might even be nice. If Mick had actually been serious. Which he wasn’t. He watched the paper umbrella roll in small circles in the gutter.

“Dammit…” Len muttered to himself. He raised his voice to yell at Mick’s retreating back, “I’m going to regret this, but FINE! Marry me, you dick! But if this goes wrong it was Elvis’s plan, not mine!”

\--

“This is awesome!”

Len rolled his eyes at his partner. The inside of the chapel was even cheesier than the outside. The walls were pale pink with the outline of a Cadillac painted along the length of the chapel, along with misshapen white blobs that Len finally decided were meant to be doves. Fake palm trees stood in every corner of the room, their plastic leaves faded and drooping. A few dozen chairs with white bows filled the main section of the room, and at the far end stood the altar itself: a raised platform flanked by plastic Roman columns with massive urns on top spilling out fake roses and ivy. Len was pretty sure he could see the dust coating them from all the way across the room. Music was playing from speakers somewhere. Len cocked his head to the side to listen. “Rock-a-Hula Baby”. Not Len’s first choice.

Beside the front door was a reception desk that would not have been out of place in a tiki lounge, all bamboo and rattan. Mick wandered over to examine a display of photo package options. The “Stuck on You” package seemed especially extensive.

Len rapped on the counter. “Anybody home?”

“Now y’all hold on just a minute and I’ll be right with you!” Len and Mick both turned in unison in time to see The King of Rock and Roll himself walk out a side door.

Len examined this Elvis as he walked toward them up the chapel aisle, his cowboy boots making muffled clicks on the linoleum. His outfit, with it’s oversized sunglasses and rhinestoned white cape and jumpsuit seemed pretty standard Elvis impersonator fare, but his trademark pompadour was slightly askew, and the whole ensemble hung loosely on his frame.

_Definitely more young Elvis than old Elvis then_ , Len thought. He looked over at Mick and raised an exasperated eyebrow. Mick looked absolutely thrilled.

“Now I see one of you hound dogs must be here to be joined in holy matrimony to some lucky lady. We have several different, but all reasonable, rates here at The King’s Chapel of Love,” said Elvis, pointing towards the display near Mick and striking an overly dramatic pose. “All completely legal of course as The King is also ordained as The Reverend. Now where is that little mama? Let’s get this show on the road!”

Elvis concluded his speech with a hip-roll and spin combo. Mick looked like it was his birthday, Christmas, and a free trip to Disney World all rolled into one. Len sighed. Just for this, he was making Mick go with him to the Star Trek Experience. Twice.

“Sorry to disappoint, Elvis,” said Len, “No little mamas tonight. We’re the ones getting married.”

There was a long silence. Elvis furrowed his eyebrows. “To… each other?” he asked.

“Problem?” asked Mick, voice dark and dangerous. He drew his gun from under his jacket and pointed it at Elvis.

“No! No, not at all!” Elvis' voice cracked. “Whatever y’all want! I, uh, you know I can’t make it legal or anything though, right?”

Elvis’s eyes were wild, and Len could tell he was thinking about bolting for the front door. Len smoothly stepped directly between him and the door and drew his own gun with the same movement.

“That’s fine,” Len said. He grinned and tapped his gun lightly against his thigh contemplatively. “We’re already more of the ‘Jailhouse Rock’ type anyway.”

Mick laughed and waved his gun between Elvis and the altar. “After you, your highness.”

\--

The three of them walked down the aisle to the altar, Elvis leading the way but with less swagger than he’d walked up it. He stepped up on the platform and turned to Len and Mick.

“Uh alright, this is the part where the couple usually holds hands.”

“We’ll hang onto these,” said Mick, but he reached out and took Len’s free left hand with his own. “Get on with it.”

Elvis cleared his throat. “Um, it’s all rote so... Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to witness before family and friends the exchange of solemn vows between…” He looked at Len.

“He’s Leonard Langdon Snart,” said Mick. “And I’m Michael Christopher Rory.”

Len started. He hadn’t thought about what names they’d use. Shit. What was Mick thinking using their real names? Now they’d have to run and find somewhere else to lay low. Len frowned. But wasn’t like he wanted to marry Mick under some alias either. It dawned on Len then that he was actually marrying Mick. Holy shit. Mick was going to be his _husband_.  

Before Len had time to process that thought, he felt a slight tug on his hand as Mick moved to aim his gun more squarely at Elvis.

“You’re gonna forget those names as soon as we walk out of here, right?”

“Of course! Of course!” said Elvis, head bobbing. His wig slid a little more to the left. He continued, “The exchange of solemn vows between Leonard Snart and Michael ‘WHO LOVES YA, BABY?’ Rory.”

Elvis winced, but Mick just rolled his eyes and grunted at him to go on.

“If there be any suspicious minds present in the audience doncha think it's time to speak now or never - their love won't wait.”

He turned to Len. “Leonard Snart, repeat after me: It only took one night to get stuck on you,

and now my wish came true, you big hunka hunka burnin' love!”

Mick snorted, but Len grinned as he repeated the words. Of course the most ridiculous wedding vows he’d ever heard fit Mick to a T. But that was just like Mick wasn’t it? Crazy, unpredictable, and perfect for Len. Len looked into Mick’s eyes. Mick was gazing back at him, and the fondness in his eyes shook Len to his core. He felt a warmth spread in his chest as he continued to repeat the vows.

“I thought you were nothin' but a hound dog, cryin' all the time, but now I know you're my teddy bear, 'cause tigers play too rough and lions ain't the kind you love enough. So kiss me quick and love me tender, for I can't help falling in love with you.”

Len tried to keep his voice steady, but he couldn’t help the slight tremor on the last few words.

Elvis turned to Mick. “Michael ‘WHO LOVES YA, BABY?’ Rory, repeat after me: It took a hard headed wo… man-- a hard headed man, sorry-- to make me king of the whole wide world. I thought you were the devil in disguise but you turned out to be my puppet on a string. I used to live in the hotel down the end of lonely street, but now it's viva las vegas, 'cause I need your love tonight.”

Mick didn’t take his eyes off Len the entire time he said his vows. When he finished, he squeezed Len’s hand gently.

“Please take this moment to exchange your gifts of love.” Elvis lowered his rhinestoned sunglasses, “Y’all do have rings, right?”

Len’s heart sank. He forgot rings. He could calculate the force needed to break into a safe down to the ounce, or the time between security guard sweeps down to the second, and he couldn’t even remember to get rings for his own damn wedding? It didn’t matter how spur of the moment, Leonard should have planned for this, he should have…

“I got something. Hold on.”

Mick gave Len’s had another quick squeeze before he let go and tucked his gun into the back of his jeans. Len waited as Mick unzipped his jacket and reached into his inside jacket pocket. He pulled out what looked like an old rag, like one of the ones he used while tinkering in the shop, stained with dirt and oil and God knew what else. Len watched as Mick carefully unfolded the rag like it contained a rare and valued treasure. Could it be some gem from one of their heists? Some priceless antique from a bank vault or museum?

Mick finished unfolding the rag and wiped his free hand on his jeans before carefully, almost gingerly, picking up what was inside and holding it out to Len. In his fingers was a wide ring of bright, hammered metal.

“I know it’s not fancy or nothing,” said Mick sheepishly. “Not gold or platinum. I don’t even think it’s silver.”

“It’s tin,” said Elvis, in a much higher voice than he’d had before, and with a much more Midwestern accent.

“What?”

“Tin. Lotta folks come here for vow renewals. It a fun way to do a ten or twenty year anniversary. So we have all sorts of rings in the gift shop. Tin is traditional for a tenth anniversary.”

“Ten years?” Len counted back in his head, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Ten years, thirteen days, and give or take a few hours with the time zone changes to be precise, but who was counting.

Len looked at Mick. Mick stared back at him. In his eyes, Len could see that he was also thinking about that first day in juvie, almost exactly ten years ago and all the long nights, fights, anger, joy, and partnership that had come since.

Len swallowed around a knot in his throat.  “Where’d you get that anyway?” he asked, voice suspiciously hoarse.

Mick looked away. He shifted his weight and if Len hadn’t known the man for his entire adult life, he’d swear Mick almost seemed…embarrassed?

“You remember that warehouse about five years ago? Just the two of us?”

The knot in Len’s throat tightened. “How could I forget? Freeport. First job I ever planned myself, spent weeks on it, and I blew it, nearly got us both arrested and with nothing to show for it.”

Mick shrugged, “Not really nothing. I grabbed the first thing I could see on our way out. It was a box with this inside. I was gonna give it to you as a souvenir but you were so angry at yourself, I figured I’d hang on to it.” Mick looked back up, “You remember that place we found when we were hiding from the cops that night?”

“It was a high-end auto parts distributor, about five blocks from the warehouse.”

“Yeah, and you realized their security was even worse, so a month later we hit it and walked away with a haul ten times what we would have made that first night.”

Mick reached out, and Len gave him his left hand. The ring was too small for any of his fingers, so Len carefully transferred the gun and held out his right hand to Mick. When the ring slid perfectly onto his right pinky finger, he pretended the slight shaking was from holding a gun on Elvis for so long.

“Anyway,” Mick continued, his eyes bright the way they only ever were when looking at the largest, most perfect bonfires. “I figured that maybe that meant something. That maybe even when things don’t go exactly to plan, sometimes they work out even better.”

Len swallowed. If he had been drunk at all before, he was completely sober now. What had he ever done to deserve Mick Rory? This wild, infuriating, reckless man who could put aside his obsessions to focus solely on Len. Who could see when Len was frustrated and give him some suggestion that was so simple, it would unravel the problem completely. Who challenged him on every single plan, pushing Len to be a better thinker, a better thief, a better man. Who Len would do anything for because he loved him with his entire soul.

Who Len still wasn’t officially married to yet.

Keeping his eyes locked with Mick’s, Len half-heartedly waved his gun at where Elvis was trying to duck away behind the dusty silk flower arrangements.

“Finish up,” Len said. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“Uh yeah, of course,” Elvis squeaked . “Lemme just,” He stepped back up to the altar, did a few quick hip rolls, then continued in a voice pure, deep, and straight from Memphis.

“By the powers vested in me I now pronounce you husband and...husband. But remember, there is no return to sender. Please join me in welcoming Mr. AND Mr. ‘WHO LOVES YA, BABY?’ Rory-Snart! Folks, this has got me all shook up, so please love me tender, and y’all can kiss. Thank you, thankyouverymuch!”

Mick grabbed the front of Len’s jacket and pulled him in for a searing kiss. Len groaned and threw his arms over Mick’s shoulders as Mick bit and licked his way into Len’s mouth. If their first kiss as a married couple was indicative of how the rest of their marriage would be… Len snarled and gave as good as he got. Gun still in his left hand, he pressed it against Mick’s back, forcing him even closer as he grabbed Mick’s hair in right hand and twisted viciously. The short strands of his husband’s hair caught on his wedding ring and oh fuck, oh fuck.

Len broke away, panting at the thought before leaning in for one more sharp nip on Mick’s bottom lip. _His husband... His wedding ring..._  

Mick hummed and pressed his forehead against Len’s. “You wanna get outta here?” he asked. Len shivered at the heat and want in his voice. “I hear there’s this thing that usually follows a wedding. Something called a honeymoon?”

Mick let go of Len’s labels and slid his hands down Len’s chest until they rested on his hips. His thumbs rubbed slow circles on Len’s hipbones.

“Honeymoon, huh? You think you’re gonna get some just because you made an honest man of me?”

“I know I will,” Mick growled.

Len leaned in the extra half inch to press his lips gently against Mick’s. This second kiss was soft, sweet, and almost innocent. All things neither of them had been for a long time.

“Sounds good to me,” said Len as he broke away and stepped back. “Hey Elvis, I don’t suppose you know how to get to Salton Street?”

\--

Mick slammed Len into the hotel door, locking it shut behind him. Len gasped as the combination of Mick’s strength and determination forced the air from his lungs. Before he had the chance to take another breath, Mick dove in and attacked Len’s mouth with his own. Len couldn’t help but shiver as Mick licked over his teeth. He opened his mouth wider and sucked on Mick’s tongue.

“Babe, the things you do to me,” Mick groaned when they parted for air.

Len tipped his head back, knocking it against the door as he struggled to breathe. He was lightheaded, just from a kiss, and grabbed Mick’s biceps just to stay standing. The canvas was almost searing hot beneath his palms, although whether from Mick’s body heat or the hot night air Len didn’t know. He gripped tighter as Mick leaned in to nuzzle his neck, hissing as the rough stubble scraped against tender skin, setting his nerves on fire. Powerful muscles flexed beneath Len’s hands as Mick ran his hands up and down Len’s sides before gripping his waist and pinning him firmly against the door.

Len struggled half-heartedly, but Mick’s hold on him didn’t budge. God, Len was strong, but his wiry muscles would never give him half the strength of Mick’s bulk. Ever since they’d met, Mick had always been--and _would_ always be--bigger and stronger than Len. It gave him a rush when they were working, or just out in the world, to know that Mick had all that power, but would follow Len, follow his _commands_ even, keeping all that strength leased and focused only where Len directed it. But behind closed doors, when it was just the two of them...

Len couldn’t help the noise that escaped him as Mick’s teeth dragged across the corner of his jaw before biting down. Mick sucked hard against the bone and Len swore he could feel blood rising to the surface.

“N-no marks,” he finally got out.

“You’re my husband,” said Mick. “ _Mine_. Want everybody to know.”

He pressed his thigh between Len’s and Len’s hips jerked instinctively, trying to get more of that delicious pressure against his cock. He let out a frustrated snarl when Mick’s big hands kept him pinned to the door. He tugged at the rough canvas of Mick’s jacket instead.

“Off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Mick. He removed his hands from Len’s waist so he could shrug off the heavy material, but kept Len securely in place with his thigh. As the heavy material slipped off his shoulders, he leaned back in to lick and bite at the mark he’d made on Len’s jaw. Len knew there’d be a bruise there come morning, but decided he’d be angry about that then, his mind currently too busy with thoughts of _More, more, Mick, closer_.

“God, I can’t believe you’re really all mine,” Mick whispered against Len’s ear. Len shuddered at the soft brush of lips against his sensitive skin. “All for me. And I’m yours. You know that, Lenny, don’t you? All yours.”

Len felt overwhelmed, not just with the physical sensations, but with the powerful surge of emotions the words brought out in him. He was Mick’s and Mick was his, if not in the eyes of the law then at least in the eyes of each other.

And theirs were the only opinions that mattered anyway.

“Yeah, Micky,” Len said, slipping back into the nickname he hadn’t used in years. “You’re all mine.”

“Good,” said Mick. With a quick kiss against his mark, he stepped back. Len opened his eyes but before he could even really register the loss of Mick’s presence, Mick pulled off his henley in one smooth move and dropped to his knees at Len’s feet.

“Gonna make you feel so good, babe,” said Mick as he reached up to undo Len’s belt. Len groaned in relief as Mick finally got the belt opened and unzipped his fly. He slid Len’s jeans and underwear down together, just far enough down Len’s thighs to be out of the way. Len gasped as the cold air of the air conditioned hotel room hit his freed cock. He grabbed Mick’s broad shoulders as he tried to gather his senses.

Mick grinned up at him, then lightly closed one hand over Len’s aching erection. He jacked Len slowly and lightly, just a tease. With his other hand, he reached under Len’s shirt and pushed him back against the door. Len groaned at the knowledge that Mick could hold him in place with one hand, and from the flash of heat in Mick’s eyes, he knew it turned Mick on too.

Mick continued his maddeningly light touches until Len was squirming under his hands, then he leaned in close, lips just a hair's width away from the drop of precome beading on the end of Len’s cock. He slowed his hand to a stop and rubbed gently at the sensitive spot just under the head. Len bit his lip to keep from shouting.

“Hmm, something you want, Lenny? You’re awful quiet up there. Got no idea what you’re thinking.”

“ _Mick_ ,” Len warned, although it came out closer to a plea.

“Yeah?” Mick grinned. “Boss, You know I’m not real good at figuring things out sometimes. You might have to spell it out for me.

Len really hated Mick’s dumb guy routine, especially in times like this when he used it against Len.

“Goddammit, Mick! Suck me already!”

“Ask nice.” Mick squeezed his hand tight and jerked Len’s cock with a single harsh tug. Len cried out, and dug his nails into Mick’s shoulders.

“Mick. Rory,” Len gritted out through his clenched jaw as Mick started moving his hand again, more slowly but just as harshly. “You fucking asshole, will you _please_ suck my dick.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Len sobbed as his cock was enveloped in the hot wet heat of Mick’s mouth. Mick set up a driving pace, going as deep as he could and twisting his hand around the last few inches of Len’s length that he couldn’t take in, before pulling almost completely off to suckle and lap just at the head of Len’s cock. The unpredictable patterns were driving Len insane, but each time he tried to move his hips to set up some kind of rhythm, he was just reminded of Mick’s overwhelming strength as he kept Len pinned to the door.

He moved his hands from Mick’s shoulders to his head, trying to get a grip on Mick’s hair to gain some kind of control over the man, but while he could twist and tug the strands between his fingers, Mick’s hair was still too short to get a solid grip. The hair pulling only pushed Mick farther. He groaned around Len’s cock and the vibrations brought Len right to the edge, his balls drawing up tight against his body.

“Mick… Mick… gonna…” Len panted weakly.

Mick pulled off with a wet, obscene pop. “C’mon, come for me... _husband_.”  

Len screamed when he felt himself hit the back of Mick’s throat as Mick took him all the way in. He felt Mick’s throat work around him as he came, swallowing every last drop as Len panted through the aftershocks. He continued to mouth and lick Len as he softened, until the oversensitivity became too much. Len tried weakly to push him away even though he wasn’t sure he could stand on his own.

With one last lick that had Len shuddering, Mick pulled off and sat back on his heels.

“I’m starting to think this Vegas idea is the best one I’ve ever had,” said Mick. “Not sure everyone else in the hotel would agree though.”

“Ass.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Mick skimmed both hands around to Len’s backside, thick fingers lightly tracing his crease. “I was just thinking about the same thing.”

Len rolled his eyes. He was too momentarily wrung out to come up with a witty response, and Mick was looking far too pleased with himself to merit one anyway. He stood still as Mick untied and removed Len’s boots, one after the other, and rested a hand on Mick’s shoulder for balance as Mick carefully pulled Len’s jeans and underwear off the rest of the way.

Mick stood then, and as he took the gun he still had in the back of his jeans out and laid it on the hotel room’s small dresser, Len took off his coat and holster and laid them out on the chair by the door. His hands gripped indecisively at the hem of his long sleeve shirt. He normally hated anyone seeing his scars, even Mick, who knew all about the ones he’d already had as a kid. It was hard to hide anything in the group showers in juvie, and Mick knowing about the scars seemed like a worthwhile trade for having someone to watch his back. Mick knew all about the ones he’d gotten since then too, cataloguing them with angry eyes and dark promises that Len was more and more tempted to take him up on.

Len shook himself. Those kinds of thoughts didn’t belong here. Not tonight.

“Hey.”

Len turned around at the soft tone in Mick’s voice and sucked in a breath. While he’d been thinking, Mick had stripped completely. The light from the hotel room lamp they’d left on didn’t do him justice, but even in the harsh light, he was absolutely stunning. His shoulders were covered in faint red lines where Len had scratched him, leading down to the heavily muscled torso and flat stomach that made Len speechless when Mick walked around their apartment shirtless on hot days. Below that, Mick’s cock was red and hard between his thick thighs, standing up almost straight enough to brush his navel. But for all Mick’s obvious need, his steps as he walked towards Len were slow and cautious. He cupped his hands carefully under Len’s face and kissed him patiently, like they had all the time in the world.

Without breaking their kiss, Mick pulled Len back slowly until they reached the bed and laid Len down like he was something precious.

“Can I?” Mick asked quietly. Len nodded and raised his arms so Mick could pull his shirt off. Len looked away as Mick pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it across the room, not wanting to see the look in his part-- his husband’s eyes. After a long moment, he felt a soft touch against his abdomen as Mick ran his fingers lightly over Len’s belly.

Len let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and looked up at Mick. Mick’s eyes were darting back and forth all over Len’s body, as if he was trying to see every part of him at once. His hand continued its slow movements, and Len realized Mick wasn’t tracing his scars or anything, just drawing abstract patterns across his skin as he looked his fill.

“Beautiful,” breathed Mick after several minutes had passed. He raised his eyes to Len’s. “What did I do to deserve you, Lenny?”

Len froze, then surged up, wrapping his arms around Mick’s neck and pulling him down into a kiss unlike any they’d ever shared before. Len felt the last remaining barriers he’d built around his heart crumble, leaving him defenseless against Mick. No more walls, nothing left between them. Len poured all the passion and love he felt for Mick into the kiss, and he felt Mick returning the same emotions and vulnerability. It was alright, it would be alright. He protected Mick, and Mick protected him. They could be vulnerable with each other. How had it taken them ten years to realize that?

Len tried to vocalize how he felt, but for the first time in memory, his words failed him. Talking was overrated anyway.

He did need words for some things though. “Duffle. Side pocket,” he gasped. Mick caught his meaning at once and leapt up, returning to the bed in seconds with the small bottle of lube in hand. They shared another look, then poured a generous amount into his palm, waiting a moment to try and warm it, before coating his fingers.

Len pulled a pillow down and tucked it under his back as Mick moved to kneel in between his legs. Mick bent over to press a soft, heartbreaking kiss against Len’s knee, then slowly slid a finger into him. Len groaned and twisted the sheets in his hands as Mick slowly stretched him with one finger, then two, then three. This wasn’t like Mick’s teasing torture of earlier though, this time Len knew Mick was going slow because he wanted it to be--wanted _himself_ to be--perfect for Len.

_Idiot,_ thought Len fondly. As if Mick wasn’t perfect already.

Len’s cock twitched against his thigh, already half-hard again, and growing even harder when Mick finally pressed against Len’s prostate. Len let out a wordless gasp, and Mick smiled and pressed again, and again, until Len was writhing in pleasure.

“Enough…” slurred Len. “Want you.”

Mick hummed, and gave Len another devastating kiss as he lined up and slowly pressed in. Len wasn’t sure which of them moaned as Mick continued to push steadily into Len in one long careful movement. Probably both of them. Mick stopped after he bottomed out. Len threw his legs up around Mick waist and there! That was the perfect angle. He rocked his hips in small circles, rubbing the head of Mick’s cock against his prostate. Mick wasn’t doing anything to help though, so Len impatiently kicked him in the side.

“Move!”

Mick chuckled, then started to laugh in earnest, and there he was. The reckless criminal, the wild lover, the sweet kisser, the lifelong friend, all of them. The same man who Len loved. Who Len was married to. Who Len needed to fuck him already.

“Aye, aye, Boss,” said Mick, before pulling out and slamming all the way back in. Len shouted as Mick set up a brutal pace. He knew neither of them were going to last long and reached his right hand up to quickly strip his cock.

Above him, Mick let out a choked groan, then fumbled a hand down over Len’s. His hand was still slick with lube and felt amazing on Len’s cock, but when tried to move his hand away, Mick gripped tighter, holding Len’s hand in place.

“Fuck, Lenny. Fuck. Your ring…”

Len looked down at the flash of metal and spread his fingers so Mick’s slid between his. Mick groaned again, and this time it was Len’s turn to be smug. But before he had the chance, to say anything, Mick upped the pace and hit Len in the perfect spot again and again until Len’s vision was whiting out as every muscle in his body seized up in pure bliss. He heard Mick cry out and a second later felt the hot rush of Mick’s release inside of him.

They lay together panting for a long time after, Mick still inside Len, but collapsed only half on him, so Len could still breathe.

“That was…” Len started when he could finally talk again.

“Awesome,” Mick finished.

“Yeah.”

After another long moment, Len hissed Mick slowly pulled out. Mick rubbed Len’s thigh in apology, then rolled off the bed and walked over to the bathroom. A few minutes later he returned with a washcloth. Len reached out to take it.

Mick shook his head, “No, uh, let me?”

Len’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he lay back against the bed. Mick cleaned Len up reverently, running the warm cloth all over Len’s body until he was half asleep. While Mick got rid of the washcloth, Len pulled the sheets out from under himself and got into bed. When Mick returned, Len held up a corner of the sheet and Mick slid in next to him.

Len huffed. If Mick thought he was the only one who could be sweet and sentimental, he was wrong. Len scooted closer until he could drape himself over Mick. He threw his thigh over Mick's legs and rested his head on Mick’s chest, right over his heart. A minute later, Mick’s arm came up to curl over Len’s back. Len smiled, content to just rest there, basking in endorphins and Mick’s body heat until a thought occurred to him.

“I’m still mad about the hickey.”

The bed shook as Mick laughed under him. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better.”

Mick hummed and rubbed his palm over Len’s back.

“Maybe if you _really_ make it up to me,” Len continued. “We can come back the next time they blow up a casino.”

Mick’s hand stopped moving. “Oh?” he breathed.

Len turned to hide his face in Mick’s chest so Mick couldn’t see his smile. “Mm, we should be millionaires ten times over by then, maybe get us that penthouse room you were talking about before. I don’t know though. Las Vegas is such a _long_ way from Central City. You’d really have to work _hard_ to make it up to me. Think you’re _up_ for that?”

“Oh yeah,” said Mick. He leaned down and Len tilted his chin up so Mick could seal the promise with a kiss. Things were just starting to heat up again when Len surprised himself by breaking the kiss with a jaw cracking yawn.

Mick laughed, “I guess that means I’ll start making it up to you tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow,” Len agreed, settling back in. “Don’t think this means you’re off the hook though.”

“Of course not… _husband_.”

“Good,” said Len, ignoring the way his cock twitched when Mick called him that. Based on the way Mick pulled him tighter he knew Mick hadn’t missed it though. “And don’t think this means I’m changing my name.”

Mick laughed again, “You think ‘Rory’ is worse than ‘ _Snart’_?”

Len sat up and looked Mick in the eye. He lifted his hand from Mick’s chest so they could both see the ring between them.

“I think I’ve spent the last five years since the night you got this building a name for myself, for us, so we can get better crews, and work bigger jobs like this last one. For better or worse, the name ‘Leonard Snart’ is starting to mean something, so I guess you’re stuck with it.”

Mick smiled, a small, soft smile that Len wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. It took his breath away. “For better or worse, huh?”

“Yeah, partner. Just like us,” Len put his hand back down on Mick’s chest and rested his head on Mick’s shoulder. He could feel Mick’s heartbeat, strong and steady, under his palm. After a moment Mick’s hand closed around his own and squeezed gently, pressing the warm metal of Len’s ring between their fingers. Len closed his eyes and let the even pace of his husband’s breathing lull him off to sleep, “For better or worse.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you tell me Mick Rory is not a man who knows every Elvis song by heart you are wrong.
> 
> The Star Trek Experience didn’t actually open until January 1998, but I’m still doing better with timelines the entire CW DC universe, so I’m gonna give myself this one. 
> 
> And the source for the vows is here if you’re interested: http://www.bwedd.com/couples/elvis_wedding_vows.asp


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